Volume One, Chapter 42: Miss Shen Is Rather Affectionate

Zhou Jingdu was unconcerned. “I know.”
He wasn’t stupid.
“Tramadol. Does Miss Shen have any objections?”
“Tramadol is addictive,” Shen Chaowu replied, despite her dislike for Zhou Jingdu. Seeing him take such medication made her uneasy. “How long have you been using it?”
Zhou Jingdu fell silent.
His lips pressed together slightly.
He changed the subject. “I see Miss Shen likes meddling in other people’s business.”
Tramadol was no good.
It relieved pain and numbed the nerves, but it also led to addiction. Taking too much could help one escape the pain of reality, but it bred dependency, sometimes even causing dissociative symptoms—
That is, blurring the line between reality and illusion.
Under Shen Chaowu’s challenging gaze, Zhou Jing...

Ji Yang was beset from both sides, forced to dodge the attacks of the black bird, clutching his wound against the intense pain. He grabbed a fellow creature and hurled it toward the oncoming black bird.

“How could a brother fail to recognize his own sibling? Are you complaining?” Dantai Ming spoke as he stepped toward the table, where his sword hung on the wall, ready for emergencies.

With a clang, the sleeve sword knocked the treasured blade from Fengyang’s hand. The sword hit the floor with a resounding thud.

“You said it yourself—it’s a hotel. What’s wrong with staying at a hotel? I always pay, and it’s my own money. Is that not allowed?” Ding Changsheng retorted.

“Hey, want a sip to take the edge off?” Wang Yue lifted the wine flask and shook it at Fenghuo, who sat nearby.

Princess Shuya glanced at the umbrella in her hand. The Empress Dowager had suddenly become friendly to Su Fengnuan; even if it had nothing to do with Xu Yunchu, it made her uneasy. She didn’t linger, merely nodded in response.

It must be said, Ding Changsheng’s strike landed precisely, not only wounding the flesh but breaking the bone. The blow sent a chill straight into Cao Yongming’s marrow.

But Xiao Fei liked it. There were no such foods in Forget-Me-Not Valley; those with a fondness for culinary pleasure could only eat more rare fruits at best. The dishes here looked exquisite, but ultimately, even the finest were made from second-grade beast meat, nothing but impurities for them now.

Just as Song Qingyang and his companions thought they’d succeeded, Cheng Donglin finally moved. When he acted, it was like a thunderbolt; his rusty, nameless sword swept forth.

The dance, as promised, was simple, easy to learn, and quite pleasant to watch. After going through it twice, I could do it without looking at the screen.

He listened as Jennifer spoke, blinking but saying nothing. She finished, shot him a hard look, then raised her cigarette to her lips. After taking a drag, she stubbed it out and left.

She had always thought her skills were only slightly above average, never expecting to be invited by the renowned domestic team LK to train with their youth squad.

Nan Xing had been worrying about him, but at the last sentence, she quietly withdrew her hand, pouted, and rolled her eyes. Jiu Su’s gaze twitched, dissipating the spiritual energy in her hands as she turned her eyes away, pretending not to notice.

Mu Qingqing stretched languidly and slowly opened her eyes. The pillow beside her was empty; Huo Haoran must have left early for work. Fearing he might wake her, he had gently pulled up the covers before leaving.

Thinking of what Bai Qianqian said her mother had taught her, the homeroom teacher called Bai Qianqian’s father.

Suo Huan’s back suddenly felt cold. Before he could react, a heavy blow struck him from behind, knocking him to the ground. Afterward, the board rained down in a flurry.

Yet at this moment, many cheered in secret, for these people had committed many heinous acts in the past, causing fear and unease.

But for the Somalis at the base, it was undeniably a major event, for the base meant safety and abundance—things unimaginable outside.

Could the recent oddities have been for Young Master Suo Huan? Yu Qian was awed; he’d heard secret stories that years ago, Young Master Suo Huan was nothing like he was now.

Two loud explosions rang out, leaving two pits five meters deep in the ground. The approaching troops had all become the soil at the bottom of the pits.

Those not chosen were naturally a pile of simply designed or bizarre, menacing secret weapons.

Su Yin’s melodious and sensual voice came through the airwaves, sending the tired brain and body of You Zishi, who hadn’t rested well, into a semi-shutdown state.

Within the learning space, the pale blue surroundings felt peaceful, yet in that pure air was a faint scent of blood.

Liu Fan promptly ordered the troops to withdraw, and from the prisoners, he selected a hundred unfortunates to be shot with arrows beneath Chigu City. The Xiliang army retreated to camp in a flash, leaving the Wusun people atop the city, speechless as they gazed upon the hundred corpses below, disarrayed in the wind.

Twenty-four points of endurance would last him quite a while; thinking this, he picked up the Shoulder Blade and noticed the dark golden light at his feet seemed even brighter.

The prosperity and worldliness of the Money House seemed to drop its curtain in an instant, woven into the melody of the song.

One should view things dialectically. Think about it—even though the fight never happened, You Zishi remains, and is only becoming more popular. What about the Dream Team?

“Director Wang, what do you mean by this?” Dai Lu hated circuitous conversation, so she asked directly.

As the commentator read these words, tens of thousands of fans at the Shrine Stadium rose to their feet to honor the athletes on the field.

Zhang Liang had spent New Year’s at Huiyuan, since at restaurants, there’s no such thing as holidays for the New Year—the busier, the better. Public transport even stopped earlier, so rushing home for New Year’s was impossible.

So although they were watched for some time, it didn’t cause much trouble, nor did it affect their purchase of the “meeting gift.”

That salute to Gao Junshan felt odd; it was the first time someone had paid their respects to him. Maybe it was a custom in their village, he mused.

“Hmph! Easy for you to say. Why don’t you sing for me? If you can sing, do whatever you please!” Zhu Xin’ai straightened her chest and stared at Zhang Liang with conviction.